The Science of War
by Vecturist
Summary: The military sent an officer to help with the design of the retrovirus against the Wraith. On paper she may have been perfect... Written for the MarySue challenge. Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The Science of War

A/N: I know I should be working on my other stories, but this bunny bit pretty hard, so blame Lady Valmar and the Mary Sue challenge on forbidddengalaxies.

I'd been in Atlantis a week and I was still eating by myself. Not that I expected any differently, and I didn't really come here to make friends. I had orders to carry out, never mind that my duties had shifted from serving my country to serving two galaxies. What was the old Navy tagline, "It's not just a job, it's an adventure?" Only I was Army, which probably didn't make the marines and air force personnel stationed here too happy. Despite various terrors threats, the military branches still don't play nicely. I can only imagine the reaction at Stargate command when the brass was told the Army was sending an officer to help examine and speed up research. Yeah, worse, I was a scientist, whose area of expertise was biological warfare, or how to efficiently kill large groups of people, or in this case, Wraith.

The joint chiefs had heard about Dr. Beckett's retrovirus research and decided he needed a little help from an outside source, someone who understood the necessity of such a weapon, someone who knew the rules of war and wouldn't develop a conscience. Which is to say, there are none, as far as I can remember, images of WWI soldiers on horses with swords facing off against tanks burned into my brain. If you have the advantage, you don't hesitate. You have a weapon, you shoot to kill. How I ever was selected, I don't know, but possessing one specific gene seemed to put me at the top of a short list. On paper, I must have looked like the ideal candidate, top of my class at West Point, young, fast rising officer, well decorated, known for following protocol, and a list of classified projects. Actually, they were missions, and it's a bitch when you can't talk about what happened, because on paper, it never occurred, which means in the eyes of the military, you shouldn't have issues to deal with non-existent events.

I made a few notes on my palmtop and then rose to put my tray away. I could feel the eyes of a couple military types following me. The laidbackness of this place surprised me, and I quickly learned there wasn't much saluting going on, something my superiors back home would have a fit over. Secretly, I was relieved – I'd been the youngest and most junior officer in the lab back on base, although it would be nice to be shown a little respect. Actually, I'd love to witness a meeting between my commanding officer and one Colonel Sheppard. Somebody would probably be on permanent kp duty. I wished I could talk about what I'd seen; maybe things would be different. I think most of the marines thought I was a geek permanently stuck in the lab, and wondered how I had achieved captain at a young age, without sleeping with someone above me, or pushing the whole affirmative action angle. Even Colonel Caldwell wasn't sure what to make of me, when I first boarded the Daedalus in olive drabs, and a serious expression on y face. I spent most of the trip reviewing notes and trying to pinpoint area of concern for my time in Atlantis.

The scientists didn't know what to make of a military type in a labcoat who probably knew eight ways to kill with a paperclip. To them, at best, I was an outsider interfering. Even my two meetings with Dr. Weir had been brief, a slight resentment unspoken at what she perceived was interference from yet another group in the military. Of course, the Army hadn't sent my full bio, like I said the branches don't like to share. I sighed softly and went in search of one Dr. Rodney McKay. I'd sent him a few polite emails asking for his data on possible delivery systems for the retrovirus. He had politely ignored them. I quickly found his lab and the man himself hunched over a laptop.

"Dr. McKay," I said politely. "I need your design schematics on the Hive ships I've requested several times."

He gave me a withering look that said such knowledge would be wasted on a grunt, "Look, whatever your name is, I'll get to it when I have a free moment sometime in the next month."

"My name is Captain Sara Williams, Dr. McKay. I was sent here by the military to work on the retrovirus and its delivery system." I got a sour look in return. I smiled politely, then pulled out my "the supposedly brilliant pedigreed puppy just pissed all over the antique rug," look. That got him moving, rummaging among various laptops and notebooks, consolidating files onto yet another computer tablet, which he handed me. As grouchy as he appeared to be, there was a small hint of fear in his eyes, like he expected me to order him to drop and give me fifty pushups. As amusing as that seemed, I simply thanked him and headed back to the office near the biology and medical labs I had claimed. I grabbed a cup of coffee from a nearby pot an settled in to work.

It was several hours later when my grumbling stomach finally made me look at the time. Apparently I'd worked through dinner and hopefully I'd still find something left in the mess, although it would probably be cold. I don't know if the mess hall crew hated me as well. As I headed out, I paused seeing one of the numerous balconies and walked towards the railing. The sun had set, but the sky was still bright. Given the wind and way the waves were crashing, tomorrow would be a great day for surfing and I smiled. Yeah, I could just myself now, leaving a "gone surfing" note on my door in pursuit of the perfect wave.

"I think that's the first time I've seen you smile, lass" a soft brogue startled me, and I put on the usual stern expression on as I turned around to see Dr. Beckett.

"I got caught up in the sequence parameters and was just on my way to the mess hall to find something to eat, before I get back to work" I explained, heading for the doorway.

"Are you ok," he asked, bright blue eyes holding my own brown ones. For a split second I felt overwhelmed by his concern and wanted to tell him everything, I was really just a scientist who'd seen the horrors in the science of war, and unfortunately found out I was very good at what I did. And either lucky enough or stupid enough to have figured out how to deal, hiding my true emotions away.

"I just have a lot to do," I replied attempting to brush past him. He resisted.

"You've absorbed a lot in a short period, isn't it a little overwhelming?" he persisted. For a moment, I thought he'd seen my complete record, then realized he meant his research.

"It's what I do," I stated as the answer to what I was doing now, and what I had done, indicating this was the end of the discussion. He let me pass, although the look on his face said he was unsatisfied with my answer.

"If you ever need to talk, you can come to me, or Dr. Heightmeyer, or even Colonel Sheppard," he called after me.

'Yeah right," I reflected, grabbing a couple pieces of fruit and a glass of milk in the mess. I wished they had those cereal dispensers like in most colleges. Makes sense for those of us who work crazy hours, like a few of the other scientists in the room, huddled in small groups. I was alone again, as usual.

A/N: For ease I split this into two parts, and I'll continue if there is interest.


	2. Chapter 2

The Science of War: part 2

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews.

I ate alone as usual; quickly finishing off the fruit I'd picked up as dinner, and then headed back to the space I'd claimed as an office. I spent a few hours reading through the notes from Dr. McKay and Zelenka on the delivery system until I was going to need something stronger than coffee to keep my eyelids propped open. Sighing, I walked down mostly deserted corridors to the room I'd been assigned. After a week in Atlantis I was no longer not the least bit startled as the door opened and lights turned on with a thought. There were some advantages to having the ATA gene, and from what I'd heard I was lucking out that Dr. McKay hadn't pestered me to try to activate some newly discovered artifact. Of course, after today's confrontation, I doubted I made his Christmas card list, but I wasn't here to make friends, I reminded myself. I was here on assignment, and a temporary one at that. Plus, if they ever learned what I'd done, I doubt Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard would ask me to stay.

I awoke to the sound of the tide starting to come in, and smiled, old habits die hard. Growing up next to the ocean, I'd never had much use for an alarm clock, somehow tuned to the rhythm of the morning tide. Yep, I was a surfer chick through and through, waking up in time to catch a few waves before school. Those were more innocent days, and I pushed a couple thoughts that threatened to encroach back into the darker corners as I grabbed my running shoes for a jog. I grabbed a quick shower (the joys of being female in the military – hair had to be collar length or shorter, or pinned up. I'd gotten tired of braiding it shortly after I'd started West Point and gone to a nearby place – never tell a barber near a military establishment to 'cut it short' – although I'd never grown it beyond collar length, which my hair was probably for the best) and returned to the mess to grab some toast and eggs. In all fairness, they weren't too bad, and I allowed myself a private smile at the thought of how much some people would pay for locally grown, organic food. I wondered if there was anyone here who could also appreciate this little fact. As I was emptying my tray I felt a few stares my direction, but shrugged it off; in my olive BDUs I still stood out somewhat in a sea of mostly grey.

I was half way through my second cup of coffee and lost in thought when I realized someone was standing in the doorway of the oversized closet I'd claimed as an office. I looked up to find Colonel Sheppard studying me with an amused expression as I almost blushed and let the other two chair legs contact the floor. "Is there something I can help you with sir," I asked as I tried to assume a more professional appearance, untucking my legs from a pose more suitable for someone reading a novel in an easy chair.

"Williams, I read that you have some field medic training," he paused, slightly ruffled that I had used the 's' word so formally, and toyed with the contents of molecular modeling kit on the corner of my desk. I'd brought it with me, not that I used it much for its intended purpose, but I found it entertaining to watch what people built with it; you could certainly separate out the scientists. "We got word that one of the worlds Teyla has contacts with may have been culled and I'm putting together a mission to go assess the damage and see if we can help who's left. Dr. Beckett's and another of his doctors are coming along, but I'd like to include someone who can both help him and handle a gun."

"Yes sir," I replied automatically. "I'd be happy to assist," although I was slightly puzzled at his sudden interest – was it in me, or to reinforce the necessity for the research I was doing?

"We'll meet in the jumper bay in 15 minutes. There's a possibility that the Wraith are still in the area, so we're not taking the most direct route and we may need to bring back survivors if there are any," the Colonel finished. I shuddered slightly, grateful he didn't notice.

"Yes sir," I answered once again, setting down the notepad I'd been scrolling through. The Colonel headed out down the hallway and I followed him a few moments later after straightening my desk. My first stop was the armory where I was handed a tac vest and assured that my BDUs were fine, I didn't need to change into camouflage. After having to exchange the vest for a smaller size (and putting up with the usual –seemed to be a universal constant – about needing an extra small) I double-checked the contents of the various pockets, then accepted a 9mil and thigh holster as well as a P-90. I'd only used one twice, both times on the range in Atlantis, but I was quite proficient. Of course, despite my background, the marine instructing me hadn't expected a supposed geek to handle a weapon so well. If he only knew.

I was the first one to arrive in the jumper bay, and curiosity got the better of me. The hatch of the assigned jumper was open and I walked inside; the interior like nothing I had ever seen before. I brushed my hand across the pilot's controls startled as everything appeared to light up and realizing there was someone behind me.

"I'm Major Lorne, and apparently you have the touch," a good-looking marine behind me quipped. I turned back to the controls, so he couldn't see my face as I recalled my best friend's comment about 'the marines and I have one thing in common, we're both looking for a few good men.' I turned back around as I heard a loud sigh and saw Dr. McKay standing there with the most exasperated look, apparently about to launch into a tirade. I shot him the look I usually reserved for the underclassman under my command, the one that said they'd be looking at polishing my boots and cleaning my room if they didn't shape up in thirty seconds. McKay did his best imitation of a goldfish and stomped out, the major and I following as we heard activity outside.

"Colonel, can we keep her," grinned Lorne catching his superior's eye. "I know she's Army, but I'm willing to forgive that since she has the gene, and, more importantly, knows how to get McKay to be quiet." I thought I saw Dr. Beckett choke back a laugh as he and another doctor set down several cases of supplies.

"That's certainly an important skill. I'll think about it," smirked Sheppard as he enjoyed seeing McKay sputter next to him. I was glad I hadn't responded with 'You'll have to talk to my superiors,' feeling included for the first time in a week. The appearance of Ronon and Tyeyla, both of whom I'd met briefly, interrupted any further teasing and everyone busied themselves with preparations. I helped Becket and the other doctor (whose name I didn't catch) run through a final checklist of supplies that Ronon helped store, then everyone got settled.

I have to admit, the Jumper flight was unlike anything I'd been in before, and I worked hard to keep my face neutral. Things were silent for few minutes until Teyla asked, "Captain, I do not quite understand. You are a soldier but you are also a scientist?"

"Yes, I went to West Point and got a degree in biology. I always wanted to study molecular biology."

"West Point?"

"It is a military school." Seeing her puzzled look, I tried to explain. "The US military has several schools. They provide an excellent education, and if you want to be an officer, they provide the most direct route to advance your career. It is also a high honor to be accepted." I heard McKay snort and fought back a comment about the Canadian military, choosing to glare at him again.

"Why, if you wanted to study biology, did you got to West Point?" asked Dr. Beckett carefully.

"It was a good opportunity and I liked the idea of graduating without debt." That was the simplest answer I could give. Actually I wasn't sure if I could give a really good answer, knowing what I knew now, I don't think I could admit I had gotten wrapped up in the stories of glory and honor. On some days, I still believed them, but now I knew the true cost. "After graduation, I worked in cancer research at Walter Reed, then got transferred to Fort Detrick."

"What did you do at Fort Detrick? asked Dr. Beckett after a moment's hesitation. I always forget the name commands a healthy amount of respect and fear.

"I was transferred after the anthrax attacks. Since I'd been doing some genomics work, they thought I could help with trying to track down the strain, see where it originated."

"After that?"

"Classified." I got a slightly frightened look from Dr. Beckett as he pondered that phrase, despite what he was doing and where he was working.

"What, no working with Ebola or smallpox? I'm sure Carson could also teach you a few voodoo rituals to share," snorted Dr. McKay.

"The CDC is the only group in the US with a strain of smallpox," I snapped back.

"Nice parroting the party line," retorted McKay.

"Ok, how about we compare notes on military branch training? There's nothing classified there," interrupted Colonel Sheppard. So for a few minutes Sheppard, Lorne, and I, and occasionally Ronon traded highlights of basic training and craziness of certain rules – most of which had the non-military shaking their heads.

"You can't be serious, they make you stand in a room and deliberately expose you to tear gas? How bloody daft?" exclaimed Dr. Beckett.

"Teaches you to think clearly and shows how you'll react in a crisis," responded Colonel Sheppard. "I was the last one to put on my gear."

"Same here," I added.

"You both lost a few brain cells, " grumbled Beckett. I spared from a further lecture by our arrival. It appeared the Wraith had left, but they'd certainly left a trail of destruction. I could smell various things still burning and an air of desperation and fear hung heavily. Screw Proust and his madelines. I didn't like what I was remembering and it didn't help this place reminded me of northern Afghanistan. I shook my head and hurried to help unload supplies before we began the trek towards the village.

TBC – I think there will be at least two more parts…


	3. Chapter 3

The Science of War: Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the continued reviews. Sorry for the delay in posting – RL has gotten quite crazy –a new house and having to find a new advisor and graduate project, since my initial project didn't get funded. My new project is a complete 180 from what I've been doing before, so I'm both excited and terrified….

The twenty-minute walk to the village was uneventful and mostly quiet, broken primarily by Dr. McKay complaining about the length of the trek, usually interrupted by some sarcastic remark from Colonel Sheppard. Dr. Beckett and his colleague quietly discussed wounds to expect, occasionally addressing a comment to me. I'd nod and continue to survey the landscape, catching Major Lorne's eye every few minutes as I resisted the urge to cover our six with him. There'd been a few moments of awkwardness as we exited the jumper and I found myself one of those to be guarded, rather than doing the guarding. Teyla and Ronon circled the group like a pair of sheepdogs watching their flock, although I wasn't sure if they or Dr. Beckett would appreciate that thought. Ronon might, he reminded me of one of my drill instructors - three parts grizzly bear, one part teddy.

Although I had been warned what to expect, there are no good words to describe the victims of a Wraith attack. The closest description I could come up with, after finding the first withered bodies, was they must have been discards from some macabre haunted house. Death, when it comes, is seldom pleasant, and even though I had seen and participated in the horrors of what one human can do to another, the tableau before me eclipsed most of those. As I pushed my emotions aside, I could see Beckett's shoulders slumping, fearful his services would not be needed, the other doctor looking like he might be sick. There was a grim set in Colonel Sheppard's and Major Lorne's jaws, the frustration written plainly across Dr. McKay's face. They'd witnessed this scene far too often. For these people, at least, there was nothing to be done and I clamped down on the growing knot in my stomach as we passed more bodies. The scene before me was bringing back some uncomfortable memories, an instant where the world and I had changed.

The mood lightened as voices suddenly broke the ominous silence. Survivors. Everyone relaxed slightly, relieved that this village hadn't been completely decimated. There was a sudden flurry of activity as fear turned to shock and relief. Most of those left had varying degrees of scratches and bruises and a makeshift triage and infirmary was quickly set up in the shadow of one of two building that still had some semblance of walls. Lorne and Ronon remained on the edge of the perimeter, on alert for any Wraith that decided they hadn't done a thorough enough job burning and pillaging. Teyla and Colonel Sheppard started speaking with the village's leader who had managed to escape. From what I overheard, approximately thirty people had survived, half of them children. Teyla offered reassurances to the woman that they were welcome on the mainland, that some of the Athosians would be more than happy to look after the children who'd lost their parents. I smiled to myself; my parents would approve of the tight-knit communities here. I'd grown up with numerous siblings and cousins in a community where you could get scolded by the next-door neighbor as well as your own parents. This closeness was one the few things that initially made sense when I joined the Army, got me through some rough patches, and made some of the fallout all the more devastating.

McKay was left to pace and occasional direct some sarcastic remark to Sheppard. Surprisingly, a few of the children found his abrasive personality almost magnetic, following him around and asking questions. I think children sometimes operate along the same lines as cats, heading for the one person who is most likely to ignore them, or else their innocence lets them see some things a little clearer. I turned to my role in this endeavor and spent the next couple hours examining wounds, helping apply bandages, murmuring soothing words and fetching general supplies. The Colonel had finished his meeting and was teaching a couple of the older children the joys of hackey-sac as I stood to take a break and stretch. I might have missed what was about to happen had it not been for the quick, anxious glance from Ronon at Dr. McKay and the remaining structure he had taken shelter under. A millisecond later I understood.

"McKay' I yelled and sprinted towards him at full tilt, half tackling him, half trying to knock him out of the way as the roof collapsed, stone and wood raining down around us a few seconds later. We were lucky: having avoided being directly under what was now a pile of rubble, but we'd both been peppered with smaller chunks of debris.

"Interesting position for you McKay. Figured you for the type that likes a woman on top. At least that's what I assumed with Colonel Carter. The things you do to get a girl. First Cadman, now Williams. " Colonel Sheppard's comment was concern disguised with sarcasm. "Captain, where'd you learn to hit like that?"

"Play a little rugby sir. Best damn hooker in the city leagues," I replied without thinking, blushing at the apparent innuendo and how I'd landed on top of Dr. McKay. As I quickly attempted to get off him before he could start complaining about the weight on top of him (and I'm not that heavy, really), I realized my right shoulder and back had taken the brunt of fallout from the roof. The next words out of my mouth were things that really shouldn't have said in mixed company, especially with small children present. Fortunately, I tapped my command of foreign languages, however, I could have picked something other than Arabic, as I saw a curious expression cross Colonel Sheppard's face as he headed our direction. The tactical vest and heavy twill of my shirt had provided some protection, but I could see dark stains on the ripped fabric and visions of raw hamburger came to mind. Dr. McKay however chose that moment to decide I wasn't moving fast enough for his taste and staggered up, knocking me over, injured shoulder firmly contacting the ground, driving in various shards and probably adding a few new ones. I hissed both at the pain and utter stupidity of someone supposed to be so brilliant.

""Easy now," Ronon's strong hands helped me to my feet, as Colonel Sheppard helped McKay the rest of the way up. I fought the urge to try and brush the fragments out of my shoulder, knowing I'd most likely push most of them further in. I settled for wrapping my arms around myself and trying not to hunch over and find a more comfortable position.

"It probably looks worse than it is," said the other doctor, worry still crossing his face as he made a survey of my wounds. "We'll get you back to Atlantis and cleaned up. Shouldn't be too serious." Dr. Beckett meanwhile was busy reassuring Rodney he wouldn't die anytime soon, that he most likely had a few bruises and might be a little sore for a few days, but that was the extent of it. Luckily we had pretty much finished for the day, and since the initial shock was wearing off, I was feeling a little embarrassed at needing rescuing on a supposed rescue mission. I reassured everyone I was fine to walk back to the jumper (although the thought of getting carried by a strong, good looking guy did cross my mind, but I have my pride). Teyla reassured the villagers everyone was ok, and we would send transport back if they decided to leave – I guess they were still trying to decide whether to rebuild where they were. The trip back to the jumper and through the Gate was uneventful and quick – I wasn't hurting enough to slow the pace, although Beckett kept rolling his eyes at my insistence that I was fine. This earned me a couple 'Yep, you're one of us,' looks from Sheppard and Lorne. Unfortunately, with doctors in our company, bypassing the infirmary was not an option, but I at least walked there, despite Dr. Beckett offering to call for a gurney or wheelchair. Dr. McKay must have had his pride wounded as well (or sensed some sort of competition), because he also walked. Before I realized it, I found myself sitting on the edge of a bed, waiting to get my shoulder cleaned and bandaged.

"Look, just give me a couple band-aids and a clean washcloth," I protested as Dr. Beckett appeared to be setting out all the implements for major surgery. I'd already proved I didn't have any damage to my nervous system as a swatted away a penlight, which earned me an exasperated sigh. I had shed the tac vest when we exited the jumper, and with a nurse's help was easing the unbuttoned shirt off when a gown appeared next to me and I gave it a curious look, then sighed, "if it made him feel more comfortable..." Years spent on the beach and in the military had pretty much blotted out any body related self-consciousness I'd had. I put the gown on, in a sort of toga style, leaving my shoulder exposed. "You've got to be kidding me," I protested again, when the Scotsman mentioned something about starting an IV and large amounts of local anesthetic and major painkillers. "I'm fine, now, and I'll let you know if it hurts, and I'd prefer to remain sitting," I insisted.

"Why do you military types keep claiming you're fine, even when you're in pain? I also want to know if you have to go through special training on how to annoy medical personnel," Dr. Beckett asked rhetorically.

"I don't know about the marines and air force, but in the Army they pretty much beat pain and weakness out of you," I answered. I didn't mention we only gave the doctors a hard time, if Dr. Beckett really wanted the military contingent to behave themselves in his infirmary; he needed a couple nurses from the military. They don't put up with anything. Even the drill instructors don't argue with them. "The fragments really aren't that painful, most of it just comes from the tension in my shoulders," I tried to explain, but I quickly realized the quickest way out, was to compromise and then be silent, which meant a decent pain killer, a bottle of antibiotics, and trying to appear dignified as saline dribbled down my back from attempts to wash out the smaller fragments.

"Well, the damage isn't too bad, you don't appear to need stitches, and your mushroom tattoo is fairly unscathed. You're all set to go, just take it easy for a few days and come back here in a day, so I can check how you are healing. Try to keep the area dry and clean. By the way, what's with the tattoo?" asked Dr. Beckett, indicating he was finished, as I checked out the expanse of steri-strips.

"Nickname," I said, carefully pulling on a clean shirt someone had brought. I was heading back to my office before I had to explain further. I'm sure I earned another eye roll and comment about the military. I spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing the mode of action of the retrovirus and trying to determine if any alterations to chemistry would speed up the mode of action. As usual, I had turned out the world around me and finally realized Colonel Sheppard was again standing in my doorway. It must have been the drugs still in my system, because I wasn't as flustered as I could have been, or was finally getting used to some of the informality around here.

"You eaten yet," he asked by way of greeting. I shook my head. "I was heading to the mess hall myself, thought you might want to join me."

I nodded, trying to straighten up some of the files and notepads on the desk. It may have been a friendly invitation, but I knew how this game was played. Although Colonel Sheppard technically wasn't my commanding officer, he the senior officer here, and to some, the invitation could interpreted as an order.

"Beckett didn't put you through too much with your shoulder, did he," he asked as walked through the halls. "He can get a little overzealous sometimes with needles and other things," he added, after carefully scanning the hall for any apparent eavesdroppers or spies.

I shook my head. "I think we came to an understanding," I quipped, seeing a knowing smirk on the colonel's face. Sometimes you have to pick your battles. The mess hall was full, apparently Atlantis' chef made a pretty good tuna casserole, but we managed to find a table. We were almost immediately joined by Teyla, Ronon and Dr. McKay. I felt a little awkward – I had gotten invited to the popular kids' table, most likely because of what I'd done – saving McKay. It really wasn't that big an issue, anyone would have done it, although I'm sure, given his reputation, so would have either tackled him harder or not tried to cover him as much as I had. Ronon nodded in greeting before attacking the serving on his plate, while Teyla asked how my shoulder was. Dr. McKay however, decided to ignore me, and asked Colonel Sheppard if his bruises gave him an excuse to miss their workout session tomorrow. Colonel Sheppard listened patiently, then said 'no,' and I listened contentedly to the ensuing bickering and good-natured sniping. For a moment I was back at my parent's table listening to my brothers. Teyla finally offered to show Dr. McKay some stretching exercises to help alleviate any soreness and speed healing.

"That might be beneficial," added Dr. Beckett, setting down his tray.

"You find this amusing, Captain," snapped Dr. McKay, shooting Dr. Beckett a look that labeled him a traitor, then zeroed in on me, after seeing the amused look on my face, figuring me for a target with the fewest repercussions.

"You two sound like my brothers when I was growing up." I half-apologized, earning a stifled chuckle from Dr. Beckett.

"You have older siblings," asked Teyla curiously, trying to start a different conversation.

"Yes, three older brothers, and a younger sister. They're all back in California near my parents," I explained, noting the curious looks I was receiving from several people seated at the table. "I grew up in Half Moon Bay, little south of San Francisco," I added.

Colonel Sheppard grinned. "So you know how to handle the really big waves," he challenged. "We'll have to find you a surfboard and wetsuit to prove it."

"Yes," I replied, "Actually ditched school on a few occasions when the waves were really good," I joked. Seeing the puzzled looks, I quickly explained, "The area near where I grew up is noted for huge waves at certain times of the year. It can be pretty dangerous to even experienced surfers, but if you're good, there's nothing like the rush. I can't quite describe the feeling of that perfect moment when you drop in on that perfect crest… " I trailed off." I could see curious expressions on both Colonel Sheppard's and Dr. Beckett's faces as they tried to reconcile this piece of information with what they'd observed in the previous week. Sometimes I didn't understand the dichotomy within myself, either. "I should be getting back to work," I said, suddenly embarrassed at all the attention and offered kindness. "Sir," I nodded to Colonel Sheppard as I stood up.

I spent the next two hours where I'd left off, the chemical mechanism of the retrovirus. The office space I had claimed was close to most of the major labs, and in the later hours the noise level usually went, as remaining scientists turned on and up their music to combat the evening's fatigue. On previous nights, I appreciated the random selection of music in the background, but tonight I couldn't tune it out. Maybe it was partly the day's events and the leftover adrenalin, some of it could have been the bout of restlessness I was prone to. I tried to make myself concentrate until I heard the two songs, one right after another, which I couldn't bear to listen to. Not that I had anything against Supertramp or Neil Young, but I knew the universe really hated me when the next song came on and all of a sudden the bodies of today merged with the bodies I remembered from Afghanistan. Neat little overlays, near-perfect matches, hitting with force of a Mack truck. Life wasn't fair, kids shouldn't have to live in fear because of someone else's whims and I shouldn't have had to become what I had originally fought against.

I tossed the file onto the desk, not caring how it landed. The emotions I'd been trying to keep bottled up were threatening to explode – I needed to go somewhere and release some pressure. Talking to someone wasn't an option, it never had been, when my commanding officers had decided to classify the mission. You can't talk about what supposedly never happened. Even if I did, there was a piece of real estate in Kansas I wasn't too keen on getting familiar with.

I'm not quite sure how I wound up in the gym. I remembered leaving my office, knowing I just had to get out of there for a little while. I hated myself for being unable to get a handle on my emotions, for feeling weak and guilty. '_You did what you had to do,'_ I told myself. I know the thought had been to head to the armory and firing range, but I scrapped that idea with my shoulder and not wanting to have to explain why I was there. I settled for grabbing my running gear and pounding through the halls, initially finding comfort in the simple rhythm I fell into. I hadn't been the fastest runner in high school, favoring distance over speed, which had actually been a saving grace at West Point, since the upperclassmen my first two years seemed to think running was good for discipline and the soul. Of course, once I had my own underclassman to command, I continued the tradition, along with the joys of boot polish and brass cleaner.

I stood in the entrance to the gym for a few moments, slightly out of breath, searching the unoccupied room for why I had wound up here. I would never say my unarmed combat skills were impressive, in fact during one of the first sessions I had jokingly referenced one scene in the first Indiana Jones movie, the one where Indy finally pulls out a gun. Well, it didn't exactly get me in good with the instructor, as I found with a night in the infirmary and a week's sentry duty. Still it felt good to attack one of the heavy weight bags hanging from the ceiling. Surfing at least had given me the muscles for a decent kick and I alternated between kicks and punches, letting my body express the rage and frustration I couldn't find words for, relishing in the sore muscles and sweat.

"You're going to need to see Beckett," commented Ronon. Ok, that was another person who'd been able to sneak up on me, although given how I'd seen him move, I didn't feel too bad. I must have looked puzzled because he pointed to my shoulder. Crap, blood stained the shoulder and back of my shirt. I hadn't even felt anything. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of heading back to the infirmary, but I wasn't a complete idiot. That and Ronon's hand on the scruff of neck was pretty persuasive. We didn't say much during the walk to see Dr. Beckett, but the position and pressure of his hand told me he understood, or at least was willing to try.

"Ronon, oh," sighed Dr. Beckett as he intercepted us in the main area. "What have you done to yourself lass?" he asked without waiting for an answer. "I'll have the nurse bring you a gown and I'll see how much damage you've done. I'm going to keep you here overnight to make sure you don't make things worse."

I opened my mouth ready to protest, then decided that I wouldn't put it past Dr. Beckett to spike the lidocaine with something else. I'd make my escape later. On the bright side of things, most of the wounds could be re-bandaged, the three deepest ones would need stitches, though, which meant a couple hits of lidocaine and the dull pull of needle and thread through skin. I tried to relax, grateful the infirmary was quiet, and tried to ignore Dr. Beckett's warm breath on my neck and shoulder, as he became intimately acquainted with my skin.

"So, I would have expected something like this from Colonel Sheppard, but not you. You could have done real damage," Dr. Beckett lectured as he finished the second set, finally breaking the silence. He seemed surprised I hadn't made a bigger production of the needles and injections, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You forget I'm a soldier. We're like racehorses. We only know how to fight," I explained, trying to look up at him from my position face down on the bed. Seeing the puzzled look on his face, I elaborated, "the best racehorses, they'll still run on a broken leg, even if it kills them."

The physician was still struggling with this analogy when one Dr. Rodney McKay walked in, starting a litany of complaints. "Carson are you sure you removed all those wood fragments? I'm guessing they covered wound cleaning in your vet classes? Oh great, we got another grunt with anger management issues," he added. "I think someone needs to do a study on the number of brain cells used by military personnel. I'm sure they'd find some deficits."

"I am not a grunt," I protested sitting up. "On paper I may just have a master's, but I'm sure some of my projects would qualify for a doctoral thesis."

"Keep deluding yourself with that thought, missy," the physicist half snarled, turning to Carson, who was trying to say something about IV antibiotics.

"It probably wouldn't hurt to speak with Dr. Heightmeyer," added Dr. Beckett.

"No."

"What is it with the military and their refusal to seek help?" argued Dr. McKay.

I didn't feel like explaining the intricacies of psychiatry in the military. Too uncaring, you were liable to explode, too sympathetic, you could become a traitor. "I am not seeing some civilian shrink who has never strapped on a gun, much less seen combat," I snapped, trying to glare at him. I turned to Dr. Beckett. "You wanted to know about the tattoo, my nickname? It's the mushroom _Amanita_, also known as the destroying angel, for how deadly it is." I could see the Scotsman take a deep breath as he pondered that piece of information.

"You could always talk to me, to Dr. Weir, or even Colonel Sheppard." Dr. Beckett said quietly, eyeing the two of us, trying to calm a growing storm.

"Some of us civilians have seen combat, what makes you think we won't understand," snarled McKay spoiling for a fight.

Maybe it was the drugs in my system or the general exhaustion I felt, but McKay was pushing all the wrong buttons. I pulled out the one weapon I'd swore I'd never use, turned to face him and said as calmly as I could, "Because I've killed better men than you."

TBC

A/N: Ok, I promise I won't make you wait that long for an update. _Amanita_ is genus of mushrooms, most of which are extremely poisonous – like the only way to treat it is with a new liver. There's actually a true story behind the last line: a friend of mine who went through the Naval Academy had a classmate who actually said this to an upperclassmen – they guy had been a SEAL and was now back in school and a little frustrated at the attempts to 'break' him.


	4. Chapter 4

The Science of War: part 4

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Just a small warning – there's a description of torture that may be a little upsetting, nothing too graphic, though, I think. I've also taken a few small liberties with events in the Middle East. Oh, and since this was originally a challenge to create a Mary Sue, there will a moment of _that_, but nothing too syrupy (I hope).

A/N2: I was all set to post this and decided to change a few things. There's some flashback thoughts and dialogue from Williams and others in italics.

_"I've killed better men than you."_ The words tumbled out faster than I could catch them, the one explanation or excuse I'd never hoped to give. Dr. McKay just looked at me, a mixture of shock, outrage, and fear written across his face. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find some pithy retort and instead doing a pretty good goldfish imitation. Dr. Beckett's reaction was much quieter, the warmth of his blue eyes dying to banked coals, and his features seemed to harden, as he realized he could no longer pretend to keep the soldier and scientist parts of my persona separate. I wasn't a biologist in a military uniform; I was a soldier who happened to be a very good scientist. They both had quickly inferred from my tone that I had killed up close and personal; I was the one holding a gun to the back of someone's head. My presence and assignment to Atlantis, as well as my behavior could suddenly be interpreted very differently. As disquieting as this was, I didn't want to stick around to explain, so I decided to make my escape.

Only when I was back in my quarters, trembling, did I fully comprehend what I'd done. For years I'd been carrying out a charade of sorts, but now I'd seriously crossed the line, what I'd said could be considered a threat by some, conduct unbecoming and all that. Although I technically didn't report to anyone on Atlantis, I still had to respect the chain of command. I'd just mouthed off, for lack of a better term, to two of the senior members of Atlantis. Knowing Dr. McKay, explanations would be demanded, explanations I could not provide, nor did part of me want to. I was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place; say nothing about my classified missions and a well-placed word about being 'difficult to work with" could effectively end my career, or describe what I'd done and face a court-martial back on Earth, for breaching confidentiality – a stain that would follow me into civilian life if I got the chance at one, and those running Atlantis certainly wouldn't want me around for what I'd done. Definitely a no-win situation.

As I sat contemplating my options, the door chimed and upon my thought the door slid open, and one of the burlier marines entered. He at least had the pretense of decorum to salute before he snapped, "Dr. Weir will see you in the conference room in ten minutes." The look on his face told me that as annoying as Dr McKay might be, and as frustrating as Dr. Beckett was, I was an outsider and I had attacked two of their own. If I hadn't outranked him, I have no doubt something might have happened between my quarters and the conference room. I was also in deeper trouble than I expected, if I was reporting to Dr. Weir, rather than Colonel Sheppard. I sighed and leaned against the wall, relaxing minutely as I felt it pulse behind me, like a calming heartbeat. I went over to my closet and grabbed a clean shirt, creases still knife blade sharp, making sure belt buckle, buttons, and everything else was aligned correctly. If I was going to get drawn and quartered, I might as well look presentable. I still had some standards. As I walked to the conference room, I could feel curious and some resentful eyes following me. As one of friends liked to say, "The only thing faster than the speed of light is gossip in a small town," and I was Topic A.

When I entered the conference room, not only did I notice Dr. Weir, but also Colonel Sheppard, Major Lorne, as well as Drs. McKay and Beckett, and a woman who I assumed was Dr. Heightmeyer. Judging by the grim looks on their faces, this was a preview of what I could expect when they sent me back. "At ease Captain, and take a seat," ordered Colonel Sheppard. There was an odd note in his voice, as he seemed uncomfortable with the formality of this situation, and I wondered if he was resentful of having to put aside his easygoing personality.

"Captain Williams, you are here because I cannot have you threatening members of my staff. I'd like an explanation of the events behind your statement, before I decide, with recommendations, of how to proceed. At this time, I am not sure if you should remain in Atlantis, despite orders," began Dr. Weir, her tone clearly indicating I'd have quite a few people to answer to back on Earth.

I forced myself to meet her gaze, "I apologize for losing my temper. It's been a stressful day, but my reaction was uncalled for and unbecoming an officer. It won't happen again," I said simply, noticing a small frown on both Dr. Beckett and Dr. Heightmeyer's faces. Certainly they weren't expecting me to give them the whole song and dance? Yes, I was in trouble, that doesn't mean you immediately break down and expect forgiveness.

"That's a pretty powerful comment you made in the infirmary, and Dr. Beckett told us Ronon's observations of you in the gym. You were more than stressed by the events of the day," started Dr. Heightmeyer helpfully, as if she were laying out a trail of breadcrumbs she expected me to follow. I refused to take the bait, and let the conference room fill with an uncomfortable silence.

"What exactly have you done? Most of you military types like to brag about what you've done. Surely you've got some good war to tell? What mild-mannered scientist by day, special forces op by night? " needled Dr. McKay finally. Obviously my use if the word _better_ still rankled him. I have to say I appreciated his directness, but it wasn't going to work. I remained silent for a few moments longer.

"I'm sorry, but that information is classified according to Army regulations," I answered before being cut off by Dr. Weir.

"This document contains our security clearances. While I have not received access to your full files, I believe the personnel connected with the Stargate program have enough clearance, and I give you my assurance, regardless of today's outcome anything you say will not be repeated outside this room." She slid a single piece of paper across the table to me, all the while glancing at the other members of the room, reinforcing that message.

I toyed with the piece of paper in front of me, rolling the edges, tempted for a moment to fold it into some complex origami animal and let them throw me in the brig for non-compliance. The numbers on the page were meaningless to me. I noticed a small imperfection in the surface of the table and suddenly found it very interesting. The silence continued to loom. Dr. Weir's expression remained neutral – I knew she had a career in diplomacy and negotiation, and could wait all day for a response, but there was also a flicker of irritation at my unwillingness to talk, I saw the same look on my mother's face when she was convincing my sister she would finish her peas before she could leave the dinner table. Dr. McKay looked like was already annoyed and had begun to fidget with his coffee cup, while Colonel Sheppard seemed to be debating between waiting and threatening me if I didn't answer in sixty seconds.

"You're only human," a soft Scottish brogue offered a tentative olive branch. Blue eyes searched out mine and for a second I thought he caught a glimpse of raw, frustrated pain. I hate that phrase, as if it conveniently excuses everything that's been fucked up.

"Yes, but," I began. All eyes suddenly focused on me. I was screwed regardless of what I did. Maybe if I asked politely, they'd leave me in the brig here, or like in the old movies, let me die a noble death fighting the wraith. Either idea beat going back home to a court martial.

"What I am about to tell you is classified according to Army regulations," I rattled off a series of letters and numbers, taking a deep breath. I'd reach the point of no return; part of me feared the consequences of what I was about to do, while another part was relieved I could finally tell someone, someone who might understand. "After I graduated, I was originally assigned to Walter Reed working in cancer research, then was transferred to Fort Detrick after the anthrax attacks. My area of study was molecular biology and gene mutation, so the Army figured I'd be able to compare samples from the attacks against known samples and try to determine the source." I explained a few more detail of what I'd done in both labs. A few people nodded, and this was all in my file, although I thought Dr. Beckett was taking a few notes.

I took a couple sips of coffee from the mug that had suddenly appeared in front of me and wished I didn't feel so alone. What I was about to describe next, I hadn't breathed a word about for several years. "While I was at Walter Reed, I began taking classes for my masters' degree. Along with a lot of biology, I took several chemistry classes, mostly on chemical warfare. It seemed logical, given events going on in the world, and various agencies were worried about possible attacks in the US. Because of this background, however, the Army decided I was qualified for a unit they were putting together to look for WMDs in the Middle East, primarily in Afghanistan." I heard Colonel Sheppard shift in his chair as mentioned that particular country. "So I wound up with a platoon of guys who'd been trying to mop up the remaining opposing forces, conduct patrols and keep the peace for the better part of a year. _They were so young, but some of them were already on their second tour._ They'd included a few other scientists, mostly chemists, one of whom I'd known from school. Part of the problem was there'd been more than a few suspicious imports of class 2 chemicals – chemicals that have uses in various industries, like solvents, but can used in the manufacture of certain basic weapons," I explained, seeing a few puzzled faces and I paused for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "We'd received word that one of the insurgent groups had been conducting tests in one of the more remote areas. Reports suggested they'd been interested in acquiring rockets, meaning that they thought they had the capability to attack various targets, allied forces and anyone they didn't like." I took another swig of coffee, wincing slightly at the bitterness and what I was about to say next.

"This particular group had starting manufacturing weapons and were testing them – on one of the local villages. We found the aftermath of their experiment. They'd used nerve and blister agents. People were dying, screaming in pain and fear, and there was nothing we could do." _We arrived too late, helpless, feeling like alien observers in our gear, just standing there_.

"I'd read the accounts from WWI of soldiers experiencing attacks in the field, the choking feeling, like being held underwater, gotten a small taste of it myself, before fumbling for my gear. I can't imagine the full horror." I heard a few sharp intakes of breath as people let their imaginations paint the scene. "Yes I know all this was supposed to have been banned, but then there's reality. To make things even worse, this group had waited until the men left for the fields, let them rush home to find their families, mostly women and kids, choking, gasping, before suffering the same fate themselves." I didn't look at Dr. Weir. I'm guessing she had probably negotiated at least one of these treaties to supposedly ban chemical warfare, but I'm guessing that neither of us wanted to acknowledge theory and practice were two totally different concepts. Dr. Heightmeyer was scribbling furiously, Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne remained impassive – they'd seen the ravages of conflicts. I didn't look at Dr. Beckett; neither of us was in the mood to appreciate some of the irony here regarding the retrovirus.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but ignored it, and plunged back into the story. It wasn't over, and although I could pause there, and receive whatever sympathy they wanted to dole out, this was only a small part. "We found the group responsible the next day. They weren't exactly happy to see us and the feeling was mutual. The previous day's images were still fresh in our minds – most of us had younger siblings, nieces, nephews, the like, so we'd been imagining them suffering. I don't think anyone slept well, unaided. _The military isn't too stingy with drugs, when it comes to keep their soldiers going._ More worrisome, however, was the idea that they try to launch chemical warheads. We'd found evidence that they had at least one rocket launcher, and that there were multiple labs spread throughout the region, but we didn't know where and if they were in close contact. We started asking." _We berated them, threatened them, tried to bargain with them_.

I noticed the exchange of knowing looks between the room's other occupants. Asking was probably a bit of a euphemism – questions aren't usually accompanied by punches or kicks. "We couldn't get anything out of them and were debating if we should turn this matter over to the MPs or someone a little more skilled in interrogation. I, like everyone else was tired, and for all we knew, we were racing the clock against the chance of a larger attack. I was second in command and decided I could get some answers, so I grabbed one of the guys we'd identified as one of the principle chemists and a couple grenades."

_We need answers sir; they could be launching an attack any minute now. Our guys aren't ready, aren't prepared just like those villagers. We need answers and I'll get them._

I fell silent for a moment, staring at the table again, realizing I now had six pairs of eyes watching me intently. _For a brief moment I could feel my rage at what had happened the day before, remembered the looks on my fellow soldiers' faces, the woman they'd considered the cool older sister, the one who'd buy them beer if they asked nicely, who changed all their lives in a split second._ "The building we were in had a couple small windowed rooms probably so they could observe their experiments or manufacturing operations. I threw the scientist in the room along with the grenades, minus the pins. Everyone got to watch. _I can't stand Jackson Pollock now_. We got all the answers we wanted thirty seconds later." I couldn't quite describe the looks I received, particularly from Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir. Major Lorne looked at me sympathetically, as if he understood and from the expression of Dr. Heightmeyer's face, I was looking at quite a few sessions on her couch if I stayed in Atlantis – at least I'd had a happy childhood. Dr. McKay looked horrified, while Dr. Beckett was a little harder to decipher.

"I assume everything was reported through the chain of command. What was their reaction?" asked Dr. Weir finally.

"They gave me a handful of medals and a promotion, after a brief consideration." I answered, which was clearly not the response she had been expecting, although given my age, rank, and what I had been doing, was something she should have figured out. If they'd disproved, I would have been stuck running some lab in New Jersey, and my name would not have even come up in the joint chiefs discussion.

"I knew what I did was wrong. I killed a civilian, a scientist, to get answers. In some respects, I wish my commanding officers hadn't praised my actions; they called it leadership and quick thinking, because unfortunately the insurgents had a couple of US installations in Afghanistan –Air Force, I think, targeted." I finished my now-cold coffee, watching the grounds trapped in the paste of sugar at the bottom.

"I wish that was the end of the story. Military command pretty much gave us carte blanche to investigate a couple other reports. I think they figured that since these insurgent groups were already breaking a couple international laws, what was the harm in letting us a break a few to confirm or deny various stories. For most of our group, we were acting with impunity – dad had given us both the keys to the car and the credit card, but consequences have a way of catching up to you, and fate, she can be creative in the ways to chooses to twist the knife. While we were waiting for the repercussions of actions, we got leave to spend a few days at a small allied forces installation and decided to hit the bar our first night there, alcohol was pretty much taboo in this region and we decided to make up for lost time. _It was another way to forget what we had done, to blot out the shrieks and the silence. It got easier for some of us to forget what we'd done._ Things were pretty quiet until someone caught sight of my battalion's emblem and made some snide remark about scientists." I caught Dr. McKay glaring at Major Lorne for a moment, and I'm guessing he could expound on what was said. "I wasn't about to give the guy any satisfaction, and went back to my beer, but he made some comment about babysitting scientists." I wondered if anyone had noticed I categorized myself as a scientist, not a soldier.

_What the hell you guys doing, did your CO decide to punish you or were you all such wimps that he decided to let you escort some scientists on a fricking tour?_

Several more glares were exchanged around the table, before Dr. Weir broke it up with a single raised eyebrow and an intense look at each of the offenders. "One of the men in my company got a little upset at the insult, never mind that he'd probably made similar remarks when his squad got the assignment, despite the fact that we were military personnel as well. He made some comment about he doubted the guy had 'the stones' to do what I did, and then proceeded to tell what I'd done. "

_You see that little blonde chick? I doubt you have half the balls to interrogate an insurgent like she did, with a couple live grenades._

"The place fell silent for a moment, followed by numerous swear words and phrases- turns out one of the squadrons there had been a target, and another had taken out a couple of the chemical manufacturing sites we'd obtained the locations of. Let's just say I didn't have to buy another beer there that night. After a few of tokens of appreciation, one of the soldiers there eyeballed me and said I needed a tattoo, to commemorate what I'd done,

_How about Cujo?_

_Naw, Cujo's for a Doberman, she's a little more dainty than that!_

_The angel of death? She's almost angelic._

'Amanita,' one of the Brits had called out, 'it's a pretty mushroom, but they call it the destroying angel.' Someone made a crack about the British and botany, but before I knew it, some US chopper pilot, Mitch, I think his name was, had sketched out a drawing, and muttered something to a partner of his about wishing their buddy were here instead of stuck with sentry duty again. I got the tattoo inked the next day. Seemed to all make sense at the time, and I'll admit I was proud of what I'd done. Little did I know it would help cement what I was to become. Shortly thereafter, our mission was classified as were all the missions following. We checked out various reports in the Middle East and a few other locales like Chechnya after the theatre attack." I paused for a few moments, grateful to find someone had partially refilled my mug.

"Just because you're allowed to do something, doesn't mean you should," I said finally, very softly. "Our actions finally caught up with us. Even though our group's activities were classified, people knew who we were, what we were about. There was fear in their eyes when we came. Since our missions were classified, the military could pretend our problems didn't exist, when people, guys I'd grown close to, started to come undone. In the military, it's easy enough to find a way to die, gun accident, walk into a situation that hasn't been secured. Soldiers expect to die, but when scientists start taking their lives, the brass took notice.

_I found him, Matt, the serious one we called 'priest,' a guy I'd gone to West Point with, holding his gun one night. 'I don't blame you,' he said, 'One of us would have done what you did, who knows what might have happened otherwise. I don't blame you, I blame them.' Then he ate his gun._

The disbanded our unit, gave us more medals, reminded us everything we'd done was classified, and gave us new posts. I decided the easiest way to cope was to become a good little soldier and keep following orders. Last I heard, I was one of the few who were still functional." I let the last words sink in and stared at the table, before I whispered, "I know what I did was wrong, but even knowing the consequences, I would do it all again. I do not take my responsibilities to those I've sworn to protect lightly." I looked at Dr Weir, indicating I was done.

"Captain Williams, you have given us a lot to think about. For the moment you will be confined to quarters." I acknowledged Dr. Weir's request, nodding at the other stunned faces in the room, then saluted Colonel Sheppard and Major Lorne.

Back in my quarters, kicked off my boots and sank against the wall, which began pulsing again, lulling me into a relaxed half-sleep. I didn't hear the door open and Colonel Sheppard slid down next to me. I started for a moment, but he indicated I should stay where I was, and we both sat against the wall, which continued to pulse.

"You've certainly given us a lot to think about," he said finally. There was a strange look in his eye as he turned and put a hand on my bruised shoulder. All of a sudden I realized that he had been the buddy the chopper pilot had been talking about, and something must have happened to Mitch, the artist. I was some little reminder of him. Finally as if he remembering the purpose of his visit, Colonel Sheppard removed his hand, looked at the wall, and stood up. "This decision could take a few days. Dr. Weir thought you might want to spend sometime over on the mainland, relax and take it easy for a few days."

This announcement was both troubling and comforting. No snap decision, but obviously this was something that required consideration. I spent four days over on the mainland, although I'd only expected to spend one after Dr. Weir made her decision. The other three I spent working on a couple projects.

"What's this," asked Colonel Sheppard, poking his head into the building I was working in.

"Bookcases for Dr. McKay and Dr. Beckett. It's the least I could do. Besides the Pegasus galaxy doesn't have an IKEA," I answered running my hands along the side of one of the narrow bookcases, built out larger pieces of driftwood, polished to a gloss by the sea.

"You might want to put these on," he smiled, eyeing my jeans and t-shirt and tossing a grey and black bundle at me. I don't think I'll ever know what swayed Dr. Weir's mind, although I heard she's made a rash decision or two of her own. Maybe she wanted someone who'd carry out orders, who was willing to get their hands dirty, who knew the consequences of an unpopular decision, but also knew it was necessary. Maybe because I had the ATA gene. I don't think I'll ever know what favors she called in to have me assigned to Atlantis. I'm sure that thrilled some of my superior officers, an Army captain in a civilian operation, reporting to a supposedly disgraced Air Force colonel.

Dr. Beckett looked a little amazed with the bookcase when I appeared back in the infirmary for him to check my stitches. I told him I could add a door to it if he wanted. My father built cabinets and I had picked up most of the necessary skills. Dr. Beckett told me I'd be working on a few other projects as he drew what I sure was one of many blood samples. Apparently natural gene carriers were pretty rare and he was eager to find out how strong mine was.

As was Dr. McKay. He accepted the bookcase, mumbling something about hippie surfer chicks and thrust an artifact at me. It lit up at my touch, and from what I learned later, my talents lay somewhere between Dr. Beckett and Colonel Sheppard's, which, according to Dr. McKay, was a pretty vast expanse, except apparently I was the only other one the city really responded to, although after I returned she was a bit quieter.

That was three months ago. I've slowly settled in the routine here, and actually find myself easting with other people. The story I had told did not leave the conference room, although I think Teyla and Ronon may have heard some details. Somehow Colonel Sheppard let it be known that what I said to Dr. McKay was all a big misunderstanding, and appearing in an expeditionary uniform helped to finally break the ice. The colonel also managed to get me out of most sessions with Dr. Heightmeyer, claiming I'd probably be more comfortable talking with him, although we don't really talk. Usually we just hand out on one of the balconies watching the ocean. Every once in awhile some topic, like surfing will come up, but Afghanistan never has, even if we are linked. Sometimes we'll complain about artifacts we've had to activate (I've now had two trips to the infirmary related courtesy of McKay) or Carson's attempts to understand why some ATA gene carriers are stronger than others and their interaction with Atlantis (he's at least got one new theory courtesy of me – I told him to check the SNPs – single nucleotide polymorphisms – or variations in the nucleotide spelling of the ATA gene). I have my own theory, though, one I've only shared with Colonel Sheppard; maybe Atlantis is a little selfish, collecting lost souls, looking for a cause, a place to call home. She knows they will defend her, restore her to her original glory. I think I just might be one of them.

FIN

A/N: Actually my dad, during his time in the Army, was stationed in New Jersey sending up weather balloons.


End file.
